


Effleurements et Chevelures

by elucifexeia



Category: Code: Realize ~Guardian of Rebirth~
Genre: Crack that might as well be canon honestly., Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 09:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5962438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elucifexeia/pseuds/elucifexeia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arsène Lupin currently works alongside Herlock Sholmes, the man he once declared his arch-nemesis. It's hard to believe, but true. And of course, things will always go awry for the Dashing Gentleman Thief.<br/>(Post-Impey's Good End, shippy if you squint.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Effleurements et Chevelures

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Alex & Van... mostly.

Lupin, Gentleman Thief Extraordinaire, had taken to aiding _Sholmes_ ; an unexpected alignment that surprised _most_ of the Lupin Gang rather obviously–Saint? Well, he was as unreadable as ever, and though he’d spoken with an expression of surprise at the time, it was apparent there was an element of _amusement_ in his tone. Neither the thief nor the detective put much thought into the reason; regardless of the reasons for _that_ , or _this_ (whatever “this” was), or how others reacted to it; _they were working together_. Somehow, they had reached the same page in their lives. Somehow, their goals had come to coincide–and despite the profession, Lupin was smart. But, of course, Sholmes could still best him. _Most of the time_. He certainly wouldn’t like to admit the times Lupin had managed to get the best of him, but it _had_ happened–it satisfied the _gentleman_ enough to satiate and silence his incessant complaints, so the detective could let it slide. For now.

Currently, the pair had been trying to track down a certain corrupt _fool_ –Sholmes didn’t dare to call the man a noble, for what he was worth. Lupin was best at gathering information from more decrepit sources; the underworld, one might call it, and Sholmes stuck to the _good side_. Though he supposed with a thief–a  _renown thief_ –in his arsenal, it didn’t look to stay that way. But maybe that was the interesting part of it all; barely _anything_ of them was compatible, and that had become something of a challenge the detective set for himself–even if he couldn’t go _changing_ Lupin, keeping him at his side made for one less hindrance. Maybe he could go back to chasing him one day–nobody he went after these days was really of considerable talent. Well, he still had Moriarty to deal with… another reason Lupin _might_ just be a good choice as someone to work with. If anyone could find a criminal, it was another criminal.

Lupin was the first to open his eyes, arms and legs stretching out as far as they could as he looked up. Ah, _right_. He shoots a look off to the side and groans audibly as he looks back up–golden eyes meeting the dimly lit ceiling from the early morning. Somehow he’d _really_ hoped this was just a dream. A stupid idea gone wrong in his mind–but no, it was a stupid idea gone wrong _in real life_. He wasn’t about to _admit_ it was a mistake though–of course not. He was the _Great_ Arsène Lupin; his chances of failure were zero, even when circumstances became _unexpected_. The frustration is apparent when he groans _again_ , turning his head to glare daggers at the back of Sholmes’. He looked like a damn  _caterpillar_ bundled up in those sheets. When the hell did he _steal_ them anyway? ‘ _Who’s the real theif now, huh?_ ’ The thought crossed his mind, but it never left his mouth.

“Must you make noises like that first thing in the morning, Lupin?” the form speaking doesn’t move, and the man in question _nearly_ doesn’t even dignify the question with a response–but he knows, he _knows_ , if he doesn’t, Sholmes will just roll over and look at him with utter  _amusement_ and say something like ‘cat got your tongue?’ and he was _not_ having that. He sits up abruptly, shirt hanging loose and takes a deep breath.  
“Why is it that I, Ars–”  
“– _ène Lupin, must deal with the likes of **you**_?” The detective chimes in on Lupin’s (what would have been) speech, with glorious flair–an arm appearing dramatically from the sheets, only to retreat once he was done–effectively silencing the one quite clearly being  _attacked_ , and birthing a scowl beneath dark bangs. “Do you ever think to say something _different_? You have no originality, _gentleman thief_.” There’s a _laugh_ hidden in that, Lupin’s sure; but the detective’s eyes are still closed, as though he doesn’t even care to  _acknowledge_ the man he’s hurling abuse at.

Sholmes, on the other hand, can just _feel_ the agitation coming from the man beside him. Yes, it _is_ quite amusing, and he wonders how long he could possibly drag this out for; after all, he had the defense that  _this_ wasn’t his fault. _Someone’s_ miscalculation–mis _information_ possibly a more accurate description–meant they had gotten here an entire day _early_ , and without adequate funds. They had enough for something of a dinner, and enough for _one room_ in nearby lodgings. Ludicrous–he’d have never made that mistake. _Never_. If it weren’t for his decision to go along with Lupin’s plans. Not to mention the _looks_ on people’s faces when they had come in here. _Together_. Really, he wouldn’t have cared, but it had to be _Lupin_. The flirtatious, gentlemanly, _idiot_ , thief. If anything it should be _him_ groaning–at Lupin; at himself, for foolishly and blindly allowing him to do as he pleased, and getting them into this predicament. ‘Trust me’ he’d said, ‘we can’t work together properly if you don’t, Sholmes’, he’d said. _Why_? Why did he _listen to him_?

“ _Ha_! Says the one who can only throw out pathetic insults!” Was it obvious his pride took a hit? No, surely he was safe, he was sure his voice came out confident. That laugh wasn’t forced at all. There’s a low hum from the other, as though the comment has provoked thought–did he finally _get him_?!  
“It’s not an insult, Lupin. It’s something called criticism, it’s something you _learn from_.” The detective finally cracks an eye open to glance over his shoulder, just barely able to see the other sat up behind him. This  _really_ isn’t the sight he imagined seeing after waking at _any point_ in his life, but he can’t say he dislikes it–if only because of the sour and _foul_ pout on the thief’s face. Who knew the so-called _gentleman_ could pull expressions like that? He doubted it was a regular occurrence; that _certainly_ made him feel _special_. –Ah, in an amusing way, of course.

“But, I digress, I suppose if that is how you see it then I must fix your misconception of me.” The detective rolls onto his back and sits up slowly; sheets still far too tangled around his body for him to bother removing them–not that he needs to. Though he’d _really_ like for Lupin to put on some more clothes right now. Perhaps he _should_ hand over the sheets. At least Sholmes hadn’t _undone his shirt_. And he wasn’t even going to _think_ about how the thief lost his pants in the night–surely it wasn’t _that hot_. Sholmes brushes his loose hair from his face, pushing it back over his shoulder before looking Lupin over once more. That skeptical look on his face was priceless–but he had to wonder what the man was thinking; there was a  _suspicious_ twinkle in his eye.

Of course, just as Sholmes had been looking over him, Lupin had been returning the favour; that disheveled look on Sholmes was a real sight for sore eyes–his anger _almost_ left because it was so funny. He was still curious just what the smart-ass was going to come out with next though, so he kept his comment to himself– _for now_. One of his legs is crossed in front of him, the other hanging from the edge of the bed; he’s relaxed, surprisingly, but he’s  _definitely_ not letting his stare on the other go, especially as he edges closer with slightly narrowed eyes. His instinctive urge is to back up, but he suspects the detective is just  _testing him_. So he remains steadfast. And, as he’d ~~suspected~~ hoped, Sholmes eventually backed away–much quicker than his approach had been–and leans against the headrest of the bed.

Sholmes clears his throat, rather dramatically. “You look so incredibly _dignified_ , Lupin.” he states, a pointed finger waving up and down in Lupin’s general direction, as if to point out his utter _lack_ of decency along with the unkempt _mess_ atop his head. Really, those short strands were sticking up _everywhere_. How _did_ the thief look so good during the day, when he wakes like _that_? –From a completely objective standpoint that observation is, of course.  
“Shut up, like _you_ look any better.” Lupin retorts, finally letting that laughter out he’d been suppressing in order to be _serious_ , all while making wild gestures around his head in reference to _Sholmes’ bedhead_.  
“Haha,” the chuckle is all that leaves Sholmes.  Two peas in a pod, then? Now that was something he didn’t want to admit at all, but the fact was they had both woke in rather _terrible_ appearances. He lets out a sigh, and finally making an effort to untangle himself from the sheets he’d (unwittingly, mind you) stolen from Lupin in the night he shifts up onto his knees.

Without a word, one of his hands reaches over to flatten the man’s unyielding strands of hair; his touch something far gentler than Lupin had expected, and yet firm enough that he _was_ somehow succeeding with his task. Clearly, with the look of concentration on Sholmes’ face, this was being taken completely seriously.  
“This is disgusting.” the thief mutters, ducking his head out of the other’s way.  
“Yes. That style is. And here I was just trying to fix it.” Sholmes sighs exasperatedly, following Lupin’s movements so that he might continue. “Look, it’s _your fault_ we had to stay in a place as bare as this: There’s not even a _mirror_. How exactly do you plan to go about taming it yourself?” He makes quite the gesture around the room with his free hand, as if to just _make his point_. Lupin almost felt like a _kid_ –a damn _baby_ –being pampered… treated? this way. But, he reluctantly sits through it and bites his tongue to prevent complaint. Sholmes was right; he _hated_ no _despised_ to admit it, but it was his own shortcomings that had put them in whatever _this_ was. Ugh. _Expert at humiliation_ needed to be added to his mental list of Sholmes’ uncanny abilities.

Once the detective found himself pleased with the outcome of his ministrations, he ceased, and kicked himself free of the covers so that he might swing his legs off the bed. “Now if you’d be so kind as to do something about _the rest of you_ , it would be much appreciated.” Sholmes had spoken–Lupin took note of at least the sound, and he might have been inclined to actually listen to the _words_ had he not been distracted. Idly, his hands do move; but not quite in the direction he’d anticipated, and he doesn’t realize quite where they end up until purple is mixed in with skin tone– _his_ skin tone. And it’s not only him who’s surprised, Sholmes’ head doesn’t turn far, but his slightly wider eyes and raised brows are still apparent in the corner of Lupin’s eyes.  
“Your hair is ridiculously long, Sholmes.” there’s a moment of silence; Lupin’s only picked up a small amount of it in his hand, but the rest still pools on the mattress behind where the owner is seated.  
“How nice of you to notice. Quite flattering. But who said you could _touch it_?”  
“Could say the same to you, you know.” Lupin sighs; his exasperation almost a reflection of Sholmes’ earlier one.

“There’s no mirror, right? How do _you_ plan to fix this mess?” There’s a _second_ of pause. “Oh.” the thief hums and his trademark smirk appears on his face. “Don’t tell me  _you’re_ the one actually _embarrassed_ after that.” he comments, and the detective brings a hand to his head.  
“How on _earth_ did you reach that conclusion? Surely in this situation it would be _you_. You weren’t even aware of your actions until a second ago, were you?” _Tch_. Sholmes was as observant as ever, but Lupin wasn’t letting this go–he’s _suffered_ under this man’s hands. Yes. _Suffered_. Absolutely abhorrent _torment_. “If you _wouldn’t mind_ , I’d like to put it up now, so let go.” The detective picks up the small elasticated band from the wooden beside table, and once again, Lupin speaks without _really_ thinking about it.  
“Pass.” His free hand reaches across; palm facing up, as his fingers curl a few times repeatedly, like a beckon. “Come on, you don’t think I’m incapable do you? You would be completely underestimating the  _Great_ Arsène Lupin, Gentleman Thief Ex–” he’s _rudely_ interrupted by Sholmes practically slapping the band into his hand.  
“– _Alright_. Just please stop giving out that speech first thing in the morning. I don’t want to tire of you before we get down to business.”

“Heh, good to know you understand.” Sholmes folds his arms, staring at nothing in particular as he wonders what’s going through Lupin’s mind once again. On-duty, he knows. He can predict the next move of Lupin’s from a mile off; he’s studied enough criminology (really, there’s like an encyclopedia of it in his mind) and solves enough crimes that he may as well have the _mentality_ of one. It’s not difficult to think like one. But like this? Off-duty, and first thing in the morning? Doing something so ridiculous? What had come over _either_ of them? He just wanted to get back at Lupin; one, for groaning about his presence; and two, for having the utter _audacity_ to imply the only thing he was capable of was _insults_. It’s surprising, though, how deftly Lupin’s hands move. Has he done this before? Perhaps with… what was her name? Cardia? But she didn’t seem the type to put her hair back–at least, he’d never seen it that way over the course of their acquaintance.

Before he even really realizes, Lupin’s done; and the ponytail falls perfectly in place–no different from how it’s usually formed by himself.  
“The skills of a master thief mean I make quite the _incredible_ copycat, you know? I can easily replicate something like this. No need to thank me. I’m just _that good_ , after all.” Lupin grins, and the detective could very well roll his eyes _right_ into the back of his head right now, but he doesn’t.

He smiles.

“Thank you, _Mister Thief_. Now, _please_ put some clothes on. We’re leaving in _five minutes_.” He’d like to see the man garb up in his _fashionable, **dashing** , way_ within that time limit. The shock on Lupin’s expression enough to make him laugh as he rises to his feet. “Good luck.” he states, grabbing his coat and scarf from a chair it was thrown over, and his hat from the rack by the door. He places the hat on his head, and swings the coat around his back, shrugging it onto his shoulders with practiced ease as he opens the door. “Five minutes, Arsène Lupin. I’ll be _counting_.” With that, the detective leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. He’s almost _certain_ as he walks down the hall he hears something of a muffled voice, recognisable only as his _dear_ companion. Once more he’s encouraged to laugh.

Yes. ‘ _Damn you, Sholmes!’_ is quite unmistakable these days.

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this with the intent to mess with a friend of mine. I tripped and fell into Hell in the process, but not without dragging a good few friends down with me. Let me know what you think, if you'd like, but there's inevitably more to come with other prompts.


End file.
